


How I became the bomb

by recklesslee



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Arthur remembers, Immortal Merlin, Lonely Merlin, M/M, Modern Era, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Pining Merlin, Reincarnation, Waiting for Arthur Pendragon, lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recklesslee/pseuds/recklesslee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had lost Arthur many years ago. Painting became a means of coping. In the midst of a new gallery show, things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I became the bomb

When Merlin first lost Arthur, he was left bereft. When you dedicate your life to protecting your other half, the other side of your coin, it becomes the only thing that seems to provide meaning. Without Arthur, his life truly seemed to make no sense. 

It was truly a horrible thing, to have to live on after death.

Merlin entered into a long period of depression with the loss of Arthur. Nothing seemed able to break him from it. He retreated into himself, disregarded any form of contact from Guinevere or the knights; it wasn’t at all hard to do considering the minimal means of keeping in contact that was available so long ago. As the years wound on and on, Merlin would look back at his self inflicted isolation as a silly decision of youth- one that could not be denied for its honesty or intensity- but rather as a choice made by the self righteousness that can only really belong to one that has felt a deep heartache for the first time.

He would learn later, that although Merlin certainly felt he was most affected by Arthur’s loss, he was only alone by choice. He should have been more reliant on his friends when he had them. For soon, they joined Arthur where Merlin couldn’t. Then he really was well and truly alone. Then he truly understood what it was to be lost.

Merlin spent decades growing older without ageing. He lost the ability to create relationships with the strange new people, in the scary modern world. It didn’t seem important at first, he thought childishly that no one would compare. As if new friends had to compete with old memories. 

He needed another means to share his pain, his love.

Merlin turned to art as a means to combat his loneliness. In short time, painting became the second ‘Art’ to hold his heart.

+

When history slowly faded to myth and myth made way to legend, Merlin had given up hope that he would be reunited with his soul mate a second time. His work was an homage to a time long past. His pictures told stories of fantasy: knights fighting dragons, witches of porcelain skin bewitching caring companions and breaking their trust, memories of blue eyes, blond hair, and scorching images of reds. 

His paintings ranged from a series of in depth studies of colours, to complete renditions of courts and battles. The emerald of Morgana’s dress, the crimson of Guinevere's, the search for the right shade of brown in Gwaine’s hair, the blond of Arthur’s. It was as much for Merlin’s memory as for his sanity that he let it out.

It was when Merlin had fully began to accept his lonesome fate, when he decided to once again share a piece of himself with the society he avoided, that it would all change.

Because of course it would.

+

Merlin sent his first piece to a gallery with little expectation. He noticed a small building that showcased work that fit his style. He particularly thought his series on colours would fit the atmosphere created within the room. He had been in a few times and had some friendly conversations with the curator. When pushed, Merlin was able to dazzle with his knowledge of art history- a benefit of living through it. In short the curator was impressed and keen to see what Merlin had to offer.

His first piece, sent by recommendation of the curator, was placed on the left wall of the second room to the right of the reception. It was a clash of grey, the colour of polished swords, of dented armour. It was the first of many to grace the walls.

+

Merlin became rather successful from that point on. His work was discussed in length at many functions. He was invited to host a gallery of his works, sketches of a now weathered and broken castle- juxtaposed with its completed fortress from his memories. A series of dragons, both real and imagined- although only to Merlin’s knowledge. His first series, ‘memories’ as he called the group of hues, was his most popular to date, however, his new collection- bright oil paintings in the likeness of his fallen friends were making a huge commotion in the art community.

Many a newspaper asked who had inspired his photos. How his photos could look so realistic when he denied any particular person sitting for them. Merlin found himself stating simply that they were faces from a past life that haunted his dreams with a laugh and a sardonic smile that he hoped made him seem more of an eccentric artist than a crazy man.

He only learned of it by chance during one such interview.

“You do know there have been some claims that you took the likeness of real people,” the woman in front of him stated calmly, “That you saw a photo on instagram and imagined new clothes for your subjects.”

Merlin chuckled, “I’m sure that they are saying that, but I swear to you these faces are from another life. Until you hear someone tell you about those stories I’m afraid any doppelgangers are purely coincidental.”

+

Following the interview Merlin’s agent made a suggestion. Why not capitalize on the publicity caused by these look alikes? Why not create the entire release of the gallery and have it centred on the faces?

And so came to be a plan. Since some of the photos had been released early the gallery would invite anyone claiming to be the inspiration for the image to come to the showcase. They would have a moment with Merlin and if he felt they held a true likeness to his images than Merlin would concede to them their images as gifts.

Merlin held tightly to the pain in his chest, pushed it low into his stomach, and agreed.

+

“Did you hear about the contest for the Emrys’ portrait?” Asked a tastefully disheveled woman as she raised her head from the newspaper and looked toward her companions.

“Yes, all of us are as enamored with the art world as you. Truly cannot think of anything more important that has happened in the world. Can you tell me again how cool this mystery man is?” Replied her friend, from across the kitchen.

“Don’t be a dick. One of the photos really looks like you. I think you should come with me to the gallery. Whether you like him or not, a free portrait by him based on the luck of looking like someone from his imagination would be pretty sweet. Plus, they usually are expensive as hell.”

The man made a face toward her in reply. He would go with her as company because she wanted it despite any of his protestations. At this point it was really just banter.

The third man in the room, who was usually silent on all things Emrys, suddenly piped in, “Can I tag along? I really want to see him.”

Although a strange request, his two friends agreed easily enough.

“You know what, let’s make this a party!”

+

The night of the show came much more quickly than Merlin had anticipated.

He was a bundle of nerves unlike ever before. Something felt different about this night, and it terrified Merlin like he hadn’t been in a long time. In the end he had no choice, he put on a brave face and went about finding as many glasses of champagne that he could before he was subjected to his live performance.

+

Merlin sat in a wooden chair on a raised platform in a white room. His portraits littered the walls around him. The audience in the room consisted of those walking around admiring the delicate brush strokes of each separate image and those who were focused toward Merlin exchanging a moment of silence with a mix of people who truly thought they were Merlin’s muse and ones that were there for a laugh and a chance at a free ‘masterpiece’. Merlin sat awkwardly through a dozen exchanges with strangers, that had excepting the odd likeness to an aspect of the people from his past little connection to Merlin’s paintings.

This was until with a flourish and what appeared to be little grace a man with roguish good looks, dark hair and eyes, a trimmed beard, and a smart aleck smirk on his lips took a seat in front of Merlin. Merlin choked on a breath as he looked into the perfect likeness of Gwaine. 

To say he was shocked was a grave understatement.

He sat quietly, frozen while looking at Gwaine, making no move to show either interest or recognition of the person in front of him. But that seemed to be shared by this new Gwaine. After a staring contest that felt like ages to Merlin, but was likely seconds, new Gwaine raised himself up from his relaxed position on the chair, shrugged his shoulders in a manner that seemed to suggest ‘Welp, what can you do?’ and walked away from Merlin without a second glance.

Merlin couldn’t help but follow his old friend’s form with his eyes. His head turning to follow the man as he joined a group of his friends. Merlin’s mind was quickly brought to an abrupt halt as he witnessed his portraits brought to motion in the form of his old friends. Guinevere, Percy, Leon, and Morgana joined Gwaine in conversation. They were gathered around the centerpiece of the exhibit. 

By far the largest portrait in the series, Arthur was not in his armour or crown. He was not portrayed regally as the others were. Instead his portrait held a much more intimate tone. The reds that so often accompanied Merlin’s memories of Arthur held a distinctly passionate hue. The shading and line work of the piece seemed to convey the idea of a background of sheets, as if Arthur was lying in bed rather than posing for a painting. His eyes were warm and unguarded, his smile soft and welcoming. 

The image was from one of Merlin’s favourite memories, of a warm summer day in the castle a short while before Arthur’s death. The two had been bickering the night before, and it had ended in Merlin forfeiting any chance of a lie in and instead waking Arthur up for a unnamed task at the first light. Merlin’s bitterness soon dissipated at the sight of Arthur in the morning light, sleep ruffled and tender. They had shared a sweet kiss in the crisp morning air, and then shared a bed shortly after. Merlin learned later that morning there was not a task, and instead Arthur had set up a means for a the two to spend the day left to their own devices, without interruption. 

Merlin did not know that day, that the happiness he felt would be lost so shortly thereafter.

+

When he returned to the present with a start, Merlin realised he had another visitor in the chair opposite him. In fact it had been a suggestive cough that had shaken him from his reverie. Merlin returned his gaze to the man in front of him and felt the world fall out from under him.

Arthur.

Merlin could feel his eyes begin to water, as he struggled to regain his self control and simultaneously memorize this new Arthur’s face. It was a perfect likeness of his prince. It re-awoke a piece of Merlin he had not been aware was absent. He could not think straight with the sudden lightheadedness, the blood pumping quickly through his veins. The constant surprises this night had brought, could not be good for his immortal heart. His vision focused in on Arthur and all else fell away to nothingness. He took no notice of the audience that seemed to sense a change in the atmosphere. All that mattered was Arthur.

Arthur who sat just as rigidly as Merlin. Arthur who was looking at Merlin as if he was all that mattered. Arthur who seemed to have a knowing look in his kind eyes. And then Arthur smiled and reached forward extending his hand across the divide between them palm up to Merlin.

And he broke.

With a quiet sob that seemed to rack his body, Merlin pitched forward and grasped Arthur’s hand. He could feel the wetness in his eyes begin to fall unbidden. He held tightly, feeling the steady pulse of his lost love, relishing in its tune. This Arthur could have everything Merlin had to offer. The clicking of lenses as photographers realised they had the best piece of gossip happening before their eyes went unnoticed by either man. Later, these photos would become the most popular from the event. The moment of utter happiness in the two men’s eyes as they smiled wondrously at each other, became a huge source of gossip in the art community.

But no one truly had an idea of just what had transpired. Only Merlin was able to hear the words that crossed Arthur’s lips at their reunion, a watery smile gracing his lips.

“Hi Merlin. I hope you weren’t waiting too long, I know it’s been awhile.”

+

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the somewhat viral video of the same name. It likely catches the emotions much better than I did.
> 
> It is the first time that i have actually shared my writing with anyone. I am sorry.


End file.
